Early March, 1837
Feeling aggravated after his journey, but extremely grateful to have survived it, Shane Gerhard lifted his valise and stepped off the stern-wheeler. What a ride. He’d never experienced one like it in all his twenty-four years. Springtime meant high waters on the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers, high waters and swift currents. But Captain Butch Robertson hadn’t seemed to mind either, and the crotchety old man had navigated his mail packet at full throttle in order to beat his competition’s time—which wasn’t anything to speak of, as far as Shane was concerned. Why, he could have walked to Hickory Corners from St. Louis in the time it had taken the steamboat to arrive.
Well, at least he was finally here. Sort of. He’d been told it was another mile into town. Shane chose to stretch his legs and make the trek on foot. Within ten minutes he passed a rustic-looking sign that read: WELCOME TO HICKORY CORNERS. He supposed this was it.
Looking around, he took in the modest, if not primitive sights of the small Ohio village. It wasn’t anything like the cosmopolitan city of St. Louis, with its paved, tree-lined avenues and majestic mansions, such as the one in which he’d been raised. Walking up a street that ran perpendicular to the river Shane decided his parents’ home was bigger than Hickory Corners’ boardinghouse, dress shop, and bank put together.
What am I doing? he asked himself for the umpteenth time as he stood across from the boardinghouse. This entire undertaking seemed incredible, if not downright absurd. But, of course, he knew all too well that if he didn’t find and marry Elsa Fritch, a resident of this sorry excuse for a town, he’d never get his inheritance.
“And she’s probably some homely spinster with a long, pointy nose and buck teeth,” he grumbled, crossing the dirt road. But a moment later, he reminded himself that a long, pointy nose and buck teeth were nothing compared to a half a million dollars. For that amount of money, he’d marry his next door neighbor’s hound dog. Of course, it wouldn’t be a real marriage; he’d have to pay Miss Fritch a tidy sum for her trouble. Then, after the wedding, he didn’t care where she resided. Here in Hickory Corners or Paris, France, it mattered little to him. All Shane wanted was the wealth rightfully due him, and he didn’t think he would ever forgive his deceased parents for including this most unfair stipulation in their will.
Shane pushed aside his tumultuous thoughts and entered the boardinghouse. One sweeping glance of the place told him this was no palace. To his right, several rough-hewn tables and benches stood in the midst of what was obviously the dining common. Not much in the way of art to admire on the unfinished, plank walls.
“Guten Morgen,” greeted an elderly, gray-haired man, perched behind a long counter to Shane’s left. His face was wrinkled, etched by time, and his blue eyes resembled dull marbles. “Nice vetter ve are having, ja?”
“Yes, Sir. Nice weather.” Shane immediately recognized the man’s dialect, since his own parents had emigrated from Germany years before his birth. While he didn’t speak the language fluently, he understood enough to get by. He removed his hat. “Can I get a room?”
“Ja, sure. How long vill you stay?”
“Not long … hopefully.”
The man, dressed in an ivory homespun linen shirt and brown pants supported by suspenders, pulled out a ledger. When he quoted the price for a night’s stay, including meals, Shane almost laughed aloud. It was a mere pittance compared to the hotels he’d grown accustomed to in the bigger cities, like New Orleans, Chicago, and New York.
Shane penned his name and paid for a week’s lodging.
“Gerhard … from St. Louis,” the old guy read from the ledger. Next he eyed Shane curiously. “Related to Georg Gerhard, ja?”
“Yes.” Shane brought his chin back, surprised. “I am his son.”
The man’s lined face brightened. “I am Arne Fritch!” He shook his head in disbelief. “Gueter! Dis is amazing! Do you know me?” He thumped his chest in question. “I know you. I know your vater. Ve ver gute friends. Elsa! Elsa!” he called up the narrow stairwell. “Kommen sie her!”
Shane stood there, feeling stunned by the series of events. So, this was Arne Fritch, Elsa’s father. Elsa Fritch, the woman he had to marry in order to receive his inheritance. Shane rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. He hadn’t meant to present himself to the Fritches looking like some vagabond. And after days on the steamboat without a bath and a close shave, Shane felt even more unkempt than he appeared.
“Elsa! Elsa!”
“I’m coming, Papa.”
Shane heard her footfalls on the steps before he ever saw the young woman. When she appeared at the base of the staircase, Shane sucked in a breath, then grinned. Not bad. Not bad at all …
Elsa Fritch wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. She had walnut-colored hair, and he’d bet it felt as soft and smelled as clean as it looked. Her sparkling, indigo eyes were like none he’d ever seen on a woman. They reminded him of untouched pools of deep, deep blue, like the hue of a quiet lake on a cloudless summer day. Her full lips were perfectly shaped and watermelon-pink, just waiting to be kissed, and even her plain brown dress with its starched white apron couldn’t hide her buxom figure.
Shane swallowed hard.
“What is it, Papa?” she asked, looking concerned. She glanced at Shane and gave him a perfunctory smile before turning back to her father again.
“Dis is Shane Gerhard,” the old man said excitedly. “Gerhard. From St. Louis.”
Elsa’s expression changed to one of interest. “You mean the same Gerhards who sponsored us?”
“Ja, ja! Dey sponsored our journey to America.”
“Oh …” The young lady stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gerhard,” she stated in a honey-sounding voice that coated his insides. “I’ve heard much about your family.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Fritch,” he replied with a smile. Moments later, he frowned. “It is Miss, isn’t it?” The notion suddenly struck Shane that perhaps she had already married someone else. Of course, that would be in violation of the contract the Fritches had made with his folks some sixteen years ago.
But to his relief, she blushed and nodded her head. “Yes, it’s Miss.”
Shane grinned.
“But not for long. I’m betrothed.”
He felt his smile fade. “Is that right?”
Elsa nodded while Shane glanced at Arne. He wondered why the older man had consented to his daughter’s engagement when he’d signed a legal document stating she was to wed Shane as a settlement for his family’s passage to this country. Had Arne Fritch forgotten his pact? He’d better not have. Shane’s fortune depended on his marrying Elsa.
“Will you be staying with us here at our boardinghouse, Mr. Gerhard?”
He swung his gaze back to hers. “Ah, yes … yes, I will.”
“We’re honored, aren’t we, Papa?”
“Ja. It vill be gute to visit.” Arne grinned broadly.
“Did you arrive by stage?” Elsa further inquired.
“Packet.”
“I see. Well, you must be very tired. May I show you to your room?”
“That’d be great.”
“Papa, can I have the key to Mr. Gerhard’s room?”
“Key?” The old man looked confused. “Vhat is … key?”
“Schluessel, Papa. Key … to unlock the door to Mr. Gerhard’s room.”
“Oh, ja, ja … da key.”
Elsa gave Shane an embarrassed smile. “Papa is often forgetful these days.”
“Ja, sometimes my memory fails me,” the older man agreed.
Shane nodded his understanding, then followed the comely young woman to the second floor and down a narrow, but carpeted hallway. The walls were whitewashed, and after Elsa opened up the bedroom, Shane decided things seemed clean and orderly, from the simple, pearly cotton spread on the bed, to the wooden shutters, opened now to allow the sunshine in.
“Thank you, Miss Fritch. I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable here.”
“Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.”
Shane set down his valise, pivoted, and grinned. “I will.”
She turned to go, then paused just outside the doorway. “Um … if you don’t mind me asking … what brings you to Hickory Corners? We’re not really on the way to anywhere.”
Shane chuckled. “True enough. The fact is, I have business with you and your parents.”
“Oh …” Elsa looked troubled. “My mother’s in Glory—”
“Excuse me?”
“Heaven.”
“Ah, she’s dead. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” Elsa said with a gentle smile. “As I said, she’s with the Lord in heaven.”
Shane rubbed the back of his neck. He never enjoyed discussing religion.
“And Papa, well …” Elsa peered to her right, down the hallway. “Papa’s mind hasn’t been quite right ever since Mama died. Perhaps you could state your business and I could help you.”
“That suits me fine. It’s really you I’m concerned with.”
“Me?” Elsa’s dark brows knitted together in consternation.
Shane reached into his overcoat and produced the document he’d been handed by his parents’ attorney. “Can you read?”
“Yes, and quite well, thank you.”
With a wry grin, he handed her the contract. “This explains my, um, dilemma. You see, Miss Fritch, you are its resolution.”
Opening the document, Elsa began to read while Shane watched her expression closely. Though she did her best to conceal her shock at its content, he saw Elsa’s chin quiver ever so slightly.
“Mr. Gerhard, I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s easy. Say you agree to the two of us getting hitched.”
“But, I’m betrothed.”
“Yeah, to me. Ever since you were four years old and I was eight.”
Elsa took a step back at his harsh tone, and Shane immediately regretted losing his temper.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been a long trip, and I’m not exactly thrilled with this setup myself. I never knew a contract between our parents existed until my folks’ untimely deaths eight months ago.”
“I see.”
Shane didn’t think she really did. “I cannot acquire my inheritance until the contract is fulfilled, and Miss Fritch, I have every intention of claiming what’s mine … including you.”
She gasped, then paled. “There must be some mistake.”
“Yes, I had hoped so, too. But, unfortunately, that contract in your hands is legal and binding and must be executed in order for me to get my money. Lady,” he said, inching closer to her, “I want my money. It’s all my parents left to me, but it’ll see me through life quite nicely. And there’s some for you, too.”
“I don’t want your money. I cannot marry you.”
“Yes, you can. And you will.”
“I won’t.”
“You will, or—”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?”
Shane saw her glance at the sleek pistol he habitually wore at his hip. He’d bought the weapon after getting robbed in a gambling den in New Orleans a few years ago.
Elsa shook her head. “I’m not afraid to die, so go ahead and shoot.”
Little imp, he thought as aggravation coursed through his veins. “Look, Miss Fritch, the contract,” he said, pulling it from her grasp, “is a binding, legal document.”
“You said that already.”
He ignored the remark. “It means you and I do not have a choice in the matter. We have to get married.”
“Then I will go to jail.”
Shane rolled his eyes. How could he make her understand? “It’s not that simple.”
“All right, all right. I will speak to my father about this matter, and if I must, I will ask our sheriff here in Hickory Corners about it … this contract,” she all but spat.
Her cheeks were flushed, and Shane thought he could relate to her indignation.
“I understand your anger and upset, Miss Fritch,” Shane stated, fighting to keep his voice calm. “I felt angry too. But I hired attorneys in St. Louis to check and recheck this document, and they couldn’t find a loophole. I doubt your small-town sheriff will know what to do about it.”
Elsa looked like she was about to burst into tears. “But I don’t want to marry you.”
“I don’t want to marry you, either.”
“Then let’s pretend we never saw this document.”
Shane chuckled at her ignorance. “Honey, I’d love to, but there’s half a million bucks waiting for me as soon as you and I say, ‘I do.’ Now, look, I’ve got a plan. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars, and you can go your merry way and forget all about me after the ceremony. How’s that?”
Elsa shook her head. “No.”
“Well, all right,” Shane drawled, “how’s twenty thousand?”
“Mr. Gerhard, you could not persuade me to marry you for two million dollars.”
“Well, three is out of my price range,” he quipped.
Else gave him a look of utter disgust. “You insolent man! No amount of money will do. Don’t you know marriage is sacred before God? He created it and designed it to be a beautiful thing between two people who love each other. It’s not something you can buy.”
Shane shrugged. “Guess I’ll die tryin’, then.”
“Elsa! Elsa!” Arne’s voice was filled with concern as he called to her. “Elsa, vhat is happening up dere dat you are shouting like a fishmonger?”
“I’m not shouting, Papa!” she shouted.
Shane laughed at the irony, and Elsa’s cheeks flamed when she realized it herself.
“We’ll talk later,” he said with a wink. “Schatz.”
She inhaled sharply. “I am not your … sweetheart. How dare you call me that!”
“Elsa …?”
“Coming, Papa,” she said, softening her voice. Then, after tossing Shane a scathing look, she made haste down the hallway.
Shane closed the door, leaning against it, grinning. This might be fun, he thought.
But one thing was sure—he meant to marry Elsa Fritch, and he would not leave this little hole-in-the-wall town until he succeeded.